Christ Weary of Supreme Court Nominees (Part 1):
There was a time, there was a time when the Rude Pundit flirted with a particularly crazed sect of Seventh Day Adventism, the kind that held services at a local hotel. This evangelizing group, call it the "Bugfuck Insane Creepy Christian Church," was having a weeklong series on the evils of popular culture at the local Holidome and, if you attended three of the seven "lectures," you received a free Bible. The Rude Dad knew a good deal when he saw one, and, since we had no Bible and RD had a perverse sense of humor, he decided it'd be fun to go. So we piled into the Chevy Malibu station wagon and headed off to the Holidome.

On night one, we learned about the Devil in rock music. This was in the heady days of backwards masking and similar sadly delusional bullshit, where "Hotel California" reversed said, "Suck my sweet Satan knob, crazy moonbat," which, apparently, if you looked it up the unpublished Alistair Crowley, "moonbat" is code for "one who worships the devil by blowing Alistair Crowley" or some such shit. Backwards voices sound eeevil, even if it's Kermit the Frog, so, for a ten-year old, so far, so brainwashing.

On night two, we learned about how sex and Satan are used to secretly lure us to buy Fruit Loops and nail polish remover. And then on night three, the preacher went on about the devil in movies. After it was over, the Rude Pundit, who was a fan of horror films old and new, went up to the preacher and asked what he meant - did Jesus not like Godzilla? No, no, the preacher assured the young Rude Pundit, but movies like The Omen or even Dracula were the problems because they make the Devil seem alluring. The Rude Pundit thought about this very quickly and, because he liked both of those films, he decided this was a punk ass religion that wasn't for him.

It didn't matter, really, because we had earned our free Bible, so Rude Dad didn't have any intention of returning. He had gotten his jollies, mildly scarred his kids, and could say that there was a Bible in the house - all in all, three nights well-spent. The preacher, though, didn't like to lose a soul, let alone an entire family of fresh, tasty, unbaptized souls. He showed up at our doorstep. RD let him in but quickly got rid of him. The next day, the preacher knocked again. "Pretend we're not here," said RD, so we cowered, and giggled, while the preacher fuckin' walked around to the back of the house to look in the sliding glass doors, knocking and calling out. There's been monster movies where flesh eating zombies have been less persistent. But, then again, he was the preacher of the Batfuck Insane Creepy Christian Church that met at the Holidome, scaring children with bugaboo demons in Beatles' songs.

The Rude Pundit was reminded of this story from the distant past when he learned that the "church" that Supreme Court nominee Harriet Miers attends is a hotel-based breakaway group from a larger Dallas church, and they gave her a standing ovation when she walked in late to their worship this past Sunday. This crazed Christ worship mixed with the piquant aroma of chlorine from the hotel pool is what Karl Rove touted to James Dobson in his "confidential" phone call, and it's what the President said is "part of Harriet Miers' life."

The most surprising part of the whole conservative backlash is just how, well, rational many of the groups and individuals sound. Tired of being used and abused, the Concerned Women for America said, "We find it patronizing and hypocritical to focus on her faith in order to gain support for Miss Miers" in response, especially, to the notion that attacks on Miers are sexist. What's sexist, let's be clear, is to not hold her to the standards one might have for a Supreme Court Justice. What's sexist is to treat Miers with kid gloves because of her delicate constitution or her lack of delicate understanding of the constitution.

Clark Kent life calls. More on this later, including the threat to each and every one of us. (And, as ever, the Rude Pundit is open for your own tales of Christ weariness.)